


Passers-by Beware

by closette



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Morally Grey Will Graham, Protective Hannibal Lecter, Quote: Eat The Rude (Hannibal), Wendigo Hannibal Lecter, Will is probably cursed, Will just rolling with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:40:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26679109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/closette/pseuds/closette
Summary: You should never be rude to that profiler, Will Graham.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 224





	Passers-by Beware

Stay at the Federal Bureau of Investigation long enough and it’s inevitable that in a bar one evening, when everyone’s already tipsy and well on their way to becoming wasted, someone will look around to check if they’ll be overheard and will lean close to you to whisper a word of advice. 

Everyone knows it’s just a dumb rumor. There’s no evidence regarding it’s accuracy, and the lack thereof isn’t for want of effort or expertise given the swarm of FBI Agents in the building. No one knows for sure when the rumor started gaining its current notoriety; Occam’s razor would suggest it’s just another case of professional jealousy. Someone badmouthing a better regarded colleague that’s blown out of proportion.

But superstitions were never supposed to stand up against logic. As much as the FBI trains its personnel to be logical, the nature of their work compels them to keep rituals. A lucky item tucked into their blazers, or a quiet prayer to some form of deity every time they’re called out on the field.

Just to be sure. It couldn’t hurt.

That kind someone in the bar will lean close to you and say in a hush-hush voice that, to be on the safe side, you should never be rude to that profiler, Will Graham.

You see, they’ll continue, people who are rude to Will Graham have the tendency to disappear without a trace, as if the very earth simply opened up and swallowed them whole. They remember public altercations initiated against Will Graham, and months or even years later the offender simply vanishes.

They had other threads connecting these disappearances, of course. People who are rude in public are often assholes in general, and it’s not a far-fetched idea to think all of them offended the wrong person along the way. In addition to these conjectures is that whenever these people disappeared, Will Graham’s whereabouts and activities are always accounted for; his alibi, if he ever needed it, was unassailable.

But still. God help you if you upset him somehow; get your affairs in order and say your goodbyes because one day, someday, you’ll be gone.

If a stranger hears these rumors, they’ll be forgiven to think that Will Graham is an overbearing sort of person. Easily offended, egotistic, wanting to fill the room with his presence until you had no option but to react.

But when people meet him they're surprised at the contradiction. He was, more often than not, a very quiet man that kept to himself. He gave off a bookish, unassuming air; his dark curls and his glasses with its cheap plastic frame obscuring his face most of the time. He eats his lunch alone in his office unless Dr. Bloom or Agent Katz drops by, and he goes home on the dot if there are no papers to grade or students to entertain. When people find out he keeps seven happy dogs, all strays and mongrels, it softens his image even more.

Nonetheless, even though he doesn’t look like the type to make a fuss over slight inconveniences, he’s given a wide berth when he walks the halls, everyone afraid of even bumping into him lest he take it the wrong way. Baristas in the lone coffee shop near the academy makes sure his order is to his specifications down to the last detail. Extra hot coffee today? Of course, Mr. Graham, what temperature would you like it? On some days he wants a splash of low-fat milk with his usual black coffee, and they triple check the carton.

Better safe than sorry, everyone thinks. That’s the purpose of superstitions after all. An illogical barrier against chaos.

But maybe it’s because of his quiet, unassuming attitude that over time some people eventually forget the whispered warning to never cross Will Graham.

***

A professor from George Washington University's forensic psychology department was visiting. His class at the start of the training period still had an empty row at the back; it was inevitable that unfavorable but whispered comparisons were made between him and Professor Graham, the latter of which needed to cut strips of paper with numbers, and students with odd numbers can stay while students who drew even can try enrolling again during the next class cycle.

“Pray tell, Mr. Graham, how do you manage to split your time so efficiently between field assignments and teaching? You’re away for not an insignificant amount of time”, says the professor as he finishes his third glass of wine.

“I think my presence in the field enriches my class. There’s no substitute for practical experience.” Will replies, keeping himself to one glass of whiskey.

“I heard you have Jack Crawford at your beck and call.”

“You’ll find that it’s the other way around. He calls me more than I call him.”

“Still, you’ve made yourself indispensable to an influential man.” Says the professor, drinking an ill-advised fourth glass. “I wonder, with all that time spent in the field, why you aren’t an agent? That would make you more accessible to him.”

“I have my reasons, professor.”

“I’m sure you do. I’ve heard the screening process is very thorough, not just physically but psychologically.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“You seem like a fit and young man, so I wonder why you didn’t finish with the application process?"

“Again, I have my reasons, professor.”

“I’m sure you do.” He replies, an eyebrow raised and a close-lipped smile on his lips. “You’re quite the talk around psychiatry circles, Mr. Graham. The way you analyze criminals is singular. You complete their profile so exactly, it’s as if you were a criminal yourself.”

“It’s what a good profiler would do.” Will replies. He finishes his whiskey in one swallow and puts the glass down on the nearest table. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I leave you to enjoy the party.”

He wasn’t far away enough to stop hearing the whispered warning. _You shouldn’t have done that professor!_

Good. Maybe he’ll be careful from now on. Maybe he’ll be the rare exception against this fucked up thing refuses to leave his orbit, a presence that's too malicious to be called something as benevolent as karma.

Will can only hope. Unfortunately for the professor, that’s the extent of good that he’s capable of doing for him. A fleeting and ultimately ineffective wish that he’ll be an exception.

***

“What a rude fellow.”

Will stops walking. “Why are you here?"

“That implies I left.” Will gives him an unimpressed look. “I’m here to enjoy a stroll with you; it’s a lovely fall evening. The wind is very crisp."

Will looks around to see if anyone is paying them any attention, but of course nobody is. It’s both his damnation and salvation, that nobody ever sees anything when it comes to the creature beside him.

“Leave him alone, Hannibal. It was petty bickering, it meant nothing.”

Hannibal tilts his head towards his direction with a frown. “Why bother lying to me, Will? When I can smell the anxiety on you.”

His answer is to quicken his steps going to the car. “I have enough of a reputation as it is. If you keep this up, I’ll end up being unemployable.”

“You underestimate me. I’m not careless enough to make it obvious. But let’s say there’s no escaping karma, and patience is a virtue."

He’s gripping the steering wheel and un-surprised to find Hannibal sitting in the passenger seat, even as the door remain closed. He thinks about what to say, because he knows arguing will get him nowhere.

Instead, he says, “Why are you bothering with your person suit?”

“You were dressed so nicely tonight, I wanted to match.”

“You always look nice when you bother.” Will says. “But you know I prefer truth to lies, Hannibal.”

“So you keep telling me, and I never lie to you, Will. There’s no need after all, when you’re the only one who sees me clearly.” The creature replies with a smile. His impeccable suit slides away, seemingly melting into thin air. Flesh skin blur and darken to a glistening black. The air vibrates and horns emerge to frame his head, where eyes the color of the void stare out at him. Sucking him in.

Will hates himself that this view of pure darkness makes him feel safe. He strokes the creature’s cheek.

“Leave him alone, please.”

“Oh Will, you know I can’t do that.”

The creature looks at him with nothing but fondness and amusement, because he does know. They’ve had hundreds of variations of this conversation over the years, ever since Will got lost hiking in the Kisatchie forest and brought something out. He’s been with him most nights since then.

Sometimes, the black eyes reminds Will of how dark the forest was that night. But there are times, like today, when the depth reminds Will of the river near his house, of how the smooth and slow flow of a deep current over long years erodes the sharp edges of the stones underneath until there’s no friction left, only the calm, unstoppable force of the water over the riverbed, unimpeded.

If a passerby isn’t careful, they're going to slip and drown on the smooth stones. Carried away downstream and swallowed by the current, never to resurface.

He runs his hands through the deeply obsidian horns, admiring the way moonlight never seem to shine back. He takes hold and pulls him close, pressing his lips into the surprisingly warm and human-feeling mouth. The creature huffs a breath and runs a tongue across his lips before plunging deeper. They tease and push and slide against each other until Hannibal pulls away to press his lips on Will’s throat, exactly where his pulse hammering fast and loud.

Will closes his eyes to savor the sensation. “I missed you.”

“The full moon’s behind us once again. You have me every night until the next.” Hannibal replies in between sucking at skin pulsating with every beat of his heart.

Will tilts his face back up to his lips and lets the current wash over him.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration for this fic is this [here art I found in pinterest.](https://www.deviantart.com/emilyena/art/Over-the-garden-wall-Hannibal-499027795) :)
> 
> What's that? I should be finishing my superbat WIP fic? Yes, I should. (T.T) 
> 
> But a month ago I started watching Hannibal because I was bored and, aside from the fact that the show is mesmerizing, I still haven't resurfaced from obsessing over Hannibal and Will. People in this ship are well fed by canon!


End file.
